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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095789">la devotee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/reesenoblade/pseuds/reesenoblade'>reesenoblade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, Established Relationship, Lime, M/M, Minecraft, Religion, Worship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:42:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/reesenoblade/pseuds/reesenoblade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>clay’s head has gotten too big, and george isn’t doing anything to stop him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>la devotee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>posted this on wattpad, hi homos.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"you've gotten stronger, george."</p>
<p>"maybe you've just gotten slower."</p>
<p>a clash of swords, sparks of metal on metal and weary, urgent grunts against possible pain fill the air of the large arena.</p>
<p>sweat beads at their idle palms, wreckage and destruction at the hands of a doey-eyed brit and a know-it-all warrior. their duel started a few moments ago, but in reality? it's been ongoing for years, from the second they met and began this petty little rivalry.</p>
<p>sandstone columns line their impending fate, greyed out stone bricks coupled to circle around each one as a test of their intelligence. who can lead who around a trail of death, who will rise in victory, who will wear a win on their sleeve? questions left unanswered for the time being, dream refuses to be the result as he raises his weapon high in the air, a glare brandished hauntingly on his freckled cheekbones.</p>
<p>he will not be drowned by loss. he will swim.</p>
<p>and so on and so forth, george retaliates by scoffing and skidding to the right, narrowly missing a fatal stab to the neck. he's aquatic in the sense that the blond is, not letting himself go down without a fight.</p>
<p>reaching backwards, dream grunts and departs a few steps, giving ground between the two. there's a sense of hostility stuck, deranged and infernal in the air. it rots at their true natures, drags their souls in and out through hell in seconds once they get a glimpse of each other's eyes. it's only offense and momentary hatred, they've been training for this for far too long.</p>
<p>"you're scared, dream? seems i've done well." the voice of a cheshire brunet, grinning up to his cheeks with a devilish tune.</p>
<p>a chuckle, the freckled boy stomping his boot into the ground in warning. "scared is a word not even in my vocabulary, georgie." when he locked gazes, they both come to the realization that fear is no longer a factor in their battles. it's purely skill, now.</p>
<p>propelling himself forward, the brunet slams his shoulder into the other's with a rough, unharnessed force. they both release a grunt, dream shoving him backwards and raising his sword once again. this time, george is ready as he clashes their weapons together. there's a moment of reprieve, both boys just glaring at one another before the blond crushes his iron boot into the brit's.</p>
<p>it doesn't hurt him, but it does catch him off guard. just enough for dream to gain the upper hand and crash the blade into george's arm.</p>
<p>a cry of pain reaps through the air, dislodging the metal and scampering off at the first sign of an exit. but the knight won't give up that easy. he dashes after the shorter, a shout of, "come here, george!" sung lowly into the atmosphere. a shriek of terror follows after, an arrow whizzing past the freckled boy's ear moments later.</p>
<p>a pillar comes between the two, both going opposite directions. when he emerges from the other side, though, george is gone. a crinkle of his brows, he whips around to make sure there isn't an ambush going on. it's just silent. where could he have gone?</p>
<p>a huff. this'll be good.</p>
<p>gripping his glove covered palm to the hilt of his sword, he lets the blade itself fall onto the sandstone floor of the arena. a temporary screech is sounded as it drags across the ground, a warning signal known only for the animalistic desires of the other opponent himself. his steps boom with an echo across the walls, ricochet off and make a song for the unknown boy. it spells out the fact that he will be found soon, no matter where he is or how well he is hidden.</p>
<p>the adrenaline pumping through dream is addicting. it's like a breed of heroin, shot directly into his veins and electrifying every part of his body. he is the predator in this situation, and his prey is making this game ten times more fun.</p>
<p>george is his enemy, first and foremost. friend, second.</p>
<p>so dream grabs the hilt tighter and pushes it full force into a nearby pillar, watching it crumble as the blade cuts through limestone. rubble departs it's mass, a going away present for a rushed figure that is almost unnoticeable.</p>
<p>keyword, almost. and he doesn't hesitate to rush towards the mass, a sinister grin tied on his cherry lips. he's having too much fun with this, he should be careful and make sure not to hurt george, but of course he wouldn't. they both know boundaries and rules, and chasing after one another with deadly weapons is just part of it all.</p>
<p>for a moment, though, a flash of brown hair deceives him. the boy hides underneath one of the broken pillars, shrouded momentarily by its height. dream knows that if he lets this go on any longer, there could be a chance the brit recovers, and that can't become a possibility. he grabs the arch of his bow and aims it to the ceiling of where the other recovers, letting an arrow whip through the air and give a greeting kiss to it's target. george lets out a gasp, eyes darting to the blond.</p>
<p>"you missed!" he yelled, jamming an arm upwards as if to prove his point.</p>
<p>dream scoffs, temporarily putting his bow back and approaching the smaller. he didn't exactly have a weapon out, but he wasn't sure he'd need it. "you're the one hiding though, georgie. isn't that weird?"</p>
<p>in retaliation, george grabs his axe and lets it hang by his side, a warning for those who dared to come near. "strategy, dream, you probably don't even know about it." he boasts, dragging the tip of his finger along the rough part of his weapon. there's an edge in his voice, as if he's trying to wait something out. knowing him, he probably is attempting to stall for whatever time he could; maybe to think of a plan?</p>
<p>good luck. dream grins and spares a glance upwards. "don't i, geo?"</p>
<p>the arrow that he had shot earlier falls from it's place, cracking the ceiling and narrowly missing the expanse of the brit's shoulder. the same boy is scrambling, having forced himself into a wall to get away from the sudden attack.</p>
<p>the taller didn't waste a second, lurching forward and putting his sword to the other's neck. he dug it in a little too deep, seeing beads of blood well up onto the blade as a result. their breaths came in heavy pants, george's eyes desperately darting around to see if there was nothing he could do. "dream—" he exhaled, words bubbling up and rocketing past his lips with hesitation heavy blooded in them. "we can talk about this, man-to-man?"</p>
<p>a laugh rings short-lived through the air, the attacker proud of what he's created. "it's not man-to-man!" he exclaims, dragging the tip of the sword along the column of his throat. malicious intent stuck to the skin, clinging.</p>
<p>"it's god, to man."</p>
<p>george gulps in a breath, hand scrambling down to his axe and clutching it in his grasp. he's quick enough to swing it at the other, stumbling into a stance. he's losing it.</p>
<p>dream backs off for a moment, knowing where to choose his battles. now, though, he feels a sense of rage flood his veins. who does he think he is? does george think he can actually win against him? no matter how much training he's gone through, no matter how much he thinks he can, he's going to be put in his place.</p>
<p>so he abandons his sword, throws it to the ground and listens to the reverb across the walls. he doesn't need it, he's proving himself. calloused, wide palms wrap around the hilt of the axe once close enough, quite literally yanking it out of the brunet's grasp. it feels heavy, like the weight of what's going on is simply in his hands. similar to the beating, bruised heart of his best friend, running his thumb over the wood as if it were an artery of his. a raise of his knee, the crack of wood snapping in half; the heart is broken, torn and wailing it's maroon cries to an empty rib cage.</p>
<p>"you—" dream reaches out as george tries to fleet, barely catching onto the cloth of his tunic. the brit screams, a terrible noise as he claws at the blond's wrists.</p>
<p>"are not—" there's a fight, actually. the smaller does good work of slamming his boots into dream's knees as hard as he can. they stumble for a moment, the blond grunting and driving the brunet into a wall to steady them both. a loud groan resonates, warmth of red plastering the back of the boy's head.</p>
<p>he's angry, and george is his friend but christ, dream wanted him to know what it felt like. to be able to look at someone and see fear flash in their vision. to understand what it was like to look down upon somebody, caught in the web of your gentle touch, and go for the blow without them having a clue. to be so powerful, so utterly divine, you equal the ones of a god. he will never comprehend that, no matter how hard his poor brain tries. maybe dream can let him in it it. "—like me."</p>
<p>gnashing hands and painful scratches, it's almost evenly matched. he's so determined, a fire lit in his soul burns brightly all the way to his eyes, where the crimson and tangerine flames flick into the irises of a scared boy. "what am i to you, george?" the warrior growls out, voice low with the hope of implication. his fingertips dig into the smaller's wrist and shoulder, grounding him.</p>
<p>george lashes back, slapping and swatting where he can. "a friend, dream, so let me go! you always win these!" his reply is lackluster, a small hiss of pain escaping closed lips as the grip tightens.</p>
<p>in seconds, a knife is being held back to the brit's throat, stopping their movements immediately. they're back to square one, glares hot like magma in the surface, borderline icy otherwise. "i always win because i'm your god, you hear that? a god." his voice doesn't sound the same; ravenous and animalistic. he can't resist the look of confusion that crosses chocolate eyes; it's new, it's refreshing, it's powerful.</p>
<p>"you've gone mad, dream! let me-"</p>
<p>"say it. say what i am."</p>
<p>another lull in the silence, george averting his gaze frantically to his friend. he's trying to figure out if this is real, small sputters being choked up and caught in his windpipe. the taller only presses further, pressure being applied to his neck with the blade more.</p>
<p>"don't get the shy act now, fucker, what am i? who is your god?" he barks out again, unforgiving.</p>
<p>and george bites his tongue so hard, he can feel the salty taste of iron begin to fill his mouth. it sits across his tastebuds in a warning matter, that despite their history and friendships and all, despite the sandstone rubble of their relationship, this is really happening. for once, he's in fear that he could actually die. these duels usually only go on until the other person gives up, but it's becoming ever apparent that surrender isn't an option at this point. he doesn't want to be known as the fallen one, who perished to a false god and lost his so-called wings in the line of dishonary battle.</p>
<p>so he swallows his pride and the blood he spilt, lowering his head in shame. "you, dream, you're my god." he mumbles, the words carried by the caress of the wind and over to his flawed enemy.</p>
<p>"louder. be my loyal devotee, george, speak up."</p>
<p>a swivel of his eyes, the brit's widened and puzzled expression speaking thousands of words. it's so strange, he can see the dilation of green pupils, the excited shake of his hands around a newly found sword. he's playing with his food, having fun with the jester of his court. "you're my god!" this time george yells it, voice cracking of soreness. he isn't dying over sometbing as stupid as this.</p>
<p>dream smiles this time, one of a bastard who knows. he reached down and brushes the sweat slicked hair from the older's forehead, he's obviously tired from running and fitting, but they are far from done. he's a good boy, a good prophet even. they aren't even religious, are they?</p>
<p>he rests the sword on george's shoulder for a second, just admiring him before slamming it down hard on the flat side as to not cut him. he cries out, pushing himself up to a kneel from the sand ridden ground. burn marks skid his arms, indents of rocks and small sand pieces littering the expanse of his limbs. but dream is a merciful god, leaning down into a crouch and taking the shorter's chin into his hand. "now," he murmurs, brushing a thumb across his jaw. "you pray to me, appease me."</p>
<p>a quirk of his head, george leans into the touch before it's taken away. he seems to take too long, because a sword is back to nudge at his throat. this time, a swipe of blood is stolen from the porcelain skin. an inhale of surprise, exhale of coughs and teary eyes.</p>
<p>"devote yourself to me," dream continues, using the blade to tilt up the brunet's pretty face. "show me your divinity, shred your sins in my name. pray for me, angel."</p>
<p>the boy in question uses an unsteady hand to wipe his glassy tears, unsure of why they made an appearance in the first place. he was less scared now, more so curious of their purpose in all this. maybe dream wasn't lying, maybe he was some deity that came down for him. he lets the blood trickle down his throat, clasping his palms together and looking towards the ground.</p>
<p>a silent prayer, lips moving along with his mind but not quite audibly. the only phrase that's uttered is a small, quiet, amen.</p>
<p>and he does as asked, forming a cross of his chest with nimble fingers and kissing it to the sky. dream, genuine, takes security of the brunet's shaking hand. he presses a kiss to the knuckles, bruised and war-born scarred. "and are you appeased, my god?" george questions, voice light and furious as he glances back towards the blond.</p>
<p>"your praise sinks into me like concrete, grounds me like no one else could. you, my angel, savor the breaths that carry my word." dream replies, voice silky as he cups george's jaw once more. "your allinity and cooperation; loyalist, an aura so prickly sweet, so utterly yours. i wonder if.." he pauses, poking his tongue out of the corner of mouth in question. "unrealistic of pure ethic, serenity in your eyes. that's my one desire, my one selfish want."</p>
<p>george smiles, brushed his blood off his clothing and thanked the fluffy heavens. "then have it, my god, i'm yours."</p>
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